A People's Man eBook

“They’ve got to be in such a state,”
Aaron continued, “that nothing appeals to them
except some material benefit; a pipe of tobacco or
a mug of beer will stir them more than any dream of
freedom. Oh! it’s sad to see them, often.
I used to go to the gates at the shipbuilding yard
and watch them come out. Ten years about does
for a man there. It’s a short spell.”

Maraton sighed. “Yet they endure,”
he muttered to himself.

“Yet they endure,” Aaron echoed.
“Can’t you see why? Don’t you
know that it is because they haven’t heard the
word—­the one great word? That’s
what they’re waiting for—­for the prophet
to open their eyes and lead them out of the wilderness.
Only just at first it may be that even his voice will
sound in vain. You are sure you won’t mind
my sister coming with us, sir? She is so interested
and they all know her down there.”

“It will be an advantage to have your sister,”
Maraton replied. “There are many things
I should like to ask her.”

CHAPTER IX

At twenty minutes past eight, Maraton, with his two
companions, reached the building in which the meeting
was to take place—­a plain, unimposing-looking
edifice, built for a chapel, whitewashed inside, but
with plastered walls and bare floors. The room
was almost packed, and it was with some difficulty
that they found seats in the back row. David
Ross, Peter Dale and Graveling occupied chairs on the
platform. Between them, Julia and Aaron kept
Maraton informed as to the identity of each newcomer.

“That’s Mr. Docker, who is going to speak
now,” the latter declared in an excited whisper.
“He is a fighting man. It’s he who
has manoeuvred this strike, they say. Now he’s
off.”

Mr. Docker has risen to his feet amidst a little hoarse
cheering. For a quarter of an hour or more, he
spoke fluently and convincingly. It appeared
from his statements that boiler-makers were the worst
paid mechanics in the universe, that it was he who
had discovered this, that it was he who had drawn
up the ultimatum which had been presented to the masters
and refused. His peroration was friendly but appealing.

“There are some amongst Boulding’s people,”
he wound up, “who, they tell me, are satisfied.
If so, I hope they are not here. They haven’t
any place here. To them I would say—­’If
you are satisfied with twenty-four shillings a week,
well, don’t waste a penny in subscribing to the
Unions, but go and spend your twenty-four shillings
a week and live on it and enjoy it, and get fat on
it if you can.’ But to those others I want
to say that it’s just as easy to get twenty-eight.
The masters don’t want you to strike just now.
You only have to be firm and you can get what’s
fair and right.”

A man rose up in the hall.

“Is it true,” he asked, “that Boulding’s
won’t pay the advance?—­that they
are going to close the doors to-morrow if we insist
upon it?”